The house stood alone at the edge of town, past the abandoned train tracks and the overgrown fields. No one ever went near it, not after what happened ten years ago.
Elena had heard the stories since childhood—how the Miller family vanished without a trace, leaving behind dinner plates still filled with food. How, at night, people claimed to hear whispers coming from inside, though no one had lived there in years.
But Elena didn't believe in stories.
It was just an old house, nothing more.
Still, when her friends dared her to spend a night inside, she hesitated. A childish bet, she told herself, but as she stood before the house at midnight, the cold wind biting at her skin, she felt something. Not fear, not yet. Just… unease.
The door was unlocked, of course. It groaned as she pushed it open, the sound echoing through the empty halls. Her flashlight cut through the dust-filled air, revealing a living room frozen in time. Furniture draped in white sheets. A clock on the wall, unmoving. A faint smell of something rotten.
She stepped inside.
Her phone vibrated—a message from Mia: You in?
Elena typed back: Yeah. Easy.
She forced herself to walk further. The wooden floor creaked beneath her weight. Her footsteps sounded too loud, as if the house were listening.
Then she heard it.
A whisper.
It came from upstairs, soft and distant. Her body tensed, logic battling instinct. It had to be the wind. Or an animal. Or—
The whisper came again.
Elena's breath caught in her throat. It wasn't the wind. It wasn't an animal.
It was a voice.
And it was calling her name.